“Mary to have her own house, Mother? Why?”
Mother and daughter explained it was their wish and the most desirable way of going on for them. He need not concern himself with the reasons – they were more of a female thing. He made no further demand for elucidation.
“What do you have in mind for the estate itself, Mother? It is not very large, compared to us here at Thornehills.”
“Six hundred and ninety acres, all told, Samuel. All of it was let to a single tenant, I believe.”
“A Farmer Mayland, I remember, Mother. The title of ‘Farmer’ says he owns some acres of his own as well as the land he leases. The lease came to an end with Tackenham’s death, of course. We need some of the acres for the sand, more than I had first thought. I have the men fencing off some fifty acres along the ridge where the sandstone surfaces. The house and gardens sit on say three acres. What of the rest?”
Mary ventured to make her wishes known.
“I wish to plant a grove of trees between the house and the new pit, Samuel. As well, I would much like a big orchard to the back and a paddock, in case of need… The gardens could be made greater, both for the kitchen and for flowers, and perhaps a small wilderness. The land is on a slope and there is a small stream and it could be made very pretty leading down to the banks.”
Samuel glanced at his mother and responded to her nod.
“Then we must fence it off for you, Mary. We shall set it out properly on a deed and ensure that all is recorded by the attorneys. Do you have a name for your house?”
Mary had not reached that far in her planning.
Samuel disposed of the remaining acres in his mind.
“The remainder may be offered to Farmer Mayland at a generous rental, he having suffered in his income this year.”
Mary brought the conversation back to her future. Samuel agreed that they must make a determination which would be good for her in the long term. He turned naturally to the source of financial wisdom in the house.
“What of money, Mother?”
“The distilleries are returning us more than two thousand a year, Samuel. The coal mines are bringing in three. Our other ventures bring in more than a thousand. We are very well off. I have put away a few hundreds for each of you from our past profits and I shall put Mary’s share into her hand when she moves in, to make her first, expensive purchases, of which there are bound to be some. The Thornehills Estate, separate from the pit, barely breaks even – the land is just too poor to be profitable. Its value is simply its size – the possessors of more than five thousand acres cannot be insignificant in the eyes of the County. For her income, there are two ways of going about that, as you will appreciate, Samuel.”
He did not understand and had to admit his ignorance.
“We could simply grant Mary a cash income every year, or we could designate the earnings of one of the enterprises as hers. We could say that a distillery or a pit was hers, managed by us but the income to go to her hands.”
Samuel did not like the second alternative.
“Was something to go wrong, she might be left without any income at all in a particular year. Better she should have a safe share of the whole, Mother.”
“That must be your decision, Samuel, to be confirmed when you are of age. It will be your money. What proportion do you think is good?”
“One half of the income each year should be spent on the firms themselves and on increasing our wealth. Say that we have three thousand as income, Mother. One thousand of that must go to your hands for Thornehills.”
Josie demurred that she spent less than this amount. Eight hundred was ample.
“As you wish, Mother. I would suggest that the equal amount goes to Mary, to spend and save as she will. She will have a sum to spend on wages and must need an amount for this new park she is to create.”
It was agreed, with little further discussion.
“What of Abraham, Mother?”
“If he ever comes back to us, then you can find a place for him, a job in the firm of some sort. While he is overseas, we have no commitment to him – we cannot have for not knowing where he might be. We will send him off with money in his pocket and well-equipped. More than that it is difficult to do.”
The sound of musketry from the hillside behind the house where Abraham had set himself up a little range emphasized that argument. He spent an hour, at least, of every day practising his skills with the long gun and his pistols. He considered himself an adequate hand with both now.
“What will you do when the house is emptier, Mother?”
“Much the same as I do now, I suspect, my son. I am afraid I am more a lady of business than a housewife. I am not one for pottering in the kitchen or for knotting a fringe or suchlike activities. I may allow you to escort me to town occasionally – I might like to spend a little of my income in Chester or Derby, or even one of the great cities – but that not very often. Do not fear for me, my son. There is much to interest me yet.”
Chapter Twelve
Killing’s Reward
Section Three - AD 1767
“Is all well with you, brother? All farewells made, ready to leave?”
Abraham nodded sombrely. He had been looking forward to the commencement of his great adventure since he was a little boy, but the actual day was upon him now and he found himself surprisingly loath to actually go, to leave all that was familiar and comfortable.
“Sixteen years in the one room of the old house, and probably never to sleep here again – it is not so easy as I had expected, Samuel… No gain to dithering! Let us be gone, my brother.”
He stepped forward to the hired chaise, his heavy leather bags strapped to the roof already, He sat himself and turned to the front doors where his mother stood alone. He waved and then resolutely turned to Samuel, who was to accompany him to the ship at Liverpool.
“Let us go, brother.”
The driver whistled to his horses and they pulled away, quietly, ready for the long and steady journey to the northwest.
Abraham had stayed two days with Mary at her house, had made his goodbyes there earlier in the week. He had kissed Josephine’s cheek and whispered something to her which had made her blush scarlet just a few minutes before. His parting with his mother had been brief, all that needed be said talked over in a long evening previously.
“What did you say to Josephine, my son?”
“Merely that I wished to greet her as my true sister if ever I returned, Mother. She has had that desire for years, I know. So, I believe, has Samuel, if he will admit it to himself.”
“You are perceptive, Abraham. I believe the same, and very much welcome it – I should be glad to call her daughter.”
“A sweet girl, Mother – but not one that would do for me, I assure you!”
“That I know, my son. Do well, my boy! Write a letter, just sometimes. Do not ever fear to come back, Abraham! Do not tell yourself that you will not return a failure or sick or wounded or whatever – there will be a welcome here whether you come back dripping golden guineas or half-starved on a crutch.”
He promised he would remember that – there would be no false pride, so he said, easily.
They spoke very little for the first miles, Abraham caught up in his own thoughts. He finally stirred when they drew up at the first inn where they could change their horses.
Samuel stepped down to make the arrangements, to give his name and direction and that of the owner of the chaise he had hired. He had read of a system of posting chaises recently set up in London and supposedly to spread across the whole country, but it had not reached the Potteries yet. The road to Liverpool was well-travelled and the bigger livery stables of the larger towns had mutual arrangements to change and rest horses, for their favoured customers, but the process was expensive and to a great extent depended on the passenger returning by the same route and picking up his horses as he came back. For the man travelling one way, the slow stagecoach was the sole practical conveyance
.
They took a pint apiece and chewed on a slice of beef on bread and returned to the carriage for the next twelve or fifteen miles of slow bouncing on the unmade road, well-rutted by a rainy summer.
“Good of you to take me to that house last night, Sammy! I had wondered what you did on those evenings when you did not come home.”
“I promised our mother that I would not lead you into wicked ways, Abe. I have not done so, for you will have no chance to go back there again, but I thought your education was not yet complete, brother.”
Abraham laughed.
“Oh, it is not, I am sure. Much more for me to learn yet, I do not doubt. But more than kind of you to teach me my ABC, shall we say!”
They laughed together.
“Keep an eye open for the chance for us to make money, Abe. I suspect there will be opportunities for the wide-awake in the new country. You know how to make and run a still, and men will always want to drink. There will be other ways of finding a profit, I do not doubt. A letter home will always find a thousand or two that can be sent across to start up a trading house or something like.”
They talked quietly of the possibilities, mining always one – there was a shortage of copper and zinc; tin was always in demand; silver, it went without saying, was welcome. Gold was unlikely, it was so rare a metal.
“Coal, Sammy?”
“Only if you find iron sat next to it, Abe. The two together can make a fortune, but there are few people in the Americas yet – better to look for the rarer ores.”
“There is a growing trade in furs, Sammy. Beaver pelts for hats are particularly called for.”
“So I am told, Abe. Best perhaps to buy them from the trappers than to go out for them yourself, if it’s money you want. To the north, I must imagine that would be, the colder climes. You are to go to Richmond, which is more southerly, in the first instance and then wherever the whim may take you.”
“Into the mountains, I do not doubt, brother. After that? Who knows.”
A day later they stood at the quayside as Abe watched his bags being carried aboard his ship.
“All there, brother?”
“Two large and two small, all as it should be. Do I really need the formal clothing Mother wished on me, Sammy?”
“Maybe, Abe. If you come into contact with a merchant in need of a useful hand in the trading line, then you must look the part. If the dress is unneedful – there will be buyers for good English clothing, or so I would imagine. Make up your mind after you have been a week or two in the town. You have the directions of the firms Mother was able to discover – see if they still exist and might be of interest. Think things over for a few days before you do anything. As well, remember what Nick said about cards and dice – there will be men only to happy to play a friendly game or two!”
Abe laughed and stepped aboard, waving as the brow was pulled up after him.
“Farewell, brother!”
“And thee, Abraham!”
Samuel stayed for half an hour, watching the ship make its way out into the Mersey and then start to set a full suit of sails, turning its head out into the Irish Sea. He did not expect ever to see his brother again – those who went West did not come back. He turned, blinked away the tears and looked for a hire carriage, asked to be taken to the warehouses of a Mr Hayes. Five minutes later he was decanted outside the doors of a prosperous merchant house. He straightened his neckcloth and stepped inside, the demands of business taking over. He’d had two days off work, it was time to get back to the grindstone.
“Mr Hayes, we have corresponded by letter but I felt it time to meet you face to face, as one might say, and discuss our mutual interests.”
The largest of their distilleries sent several hundreds of gallons of gin each month to go on Mr Hayes’ ships to Africa, secure in four-pint earthenware flagons which were in themselves valuable on the Slave Coast.
“Mr Heythorne, I am delighted to meet you. You have the look of your father about you, sir.”
Hayes had not seen Sam in fifteen years, for obvious reason, and his memory was perhaps playing him false, or possibly he was offering a hopeful courtesy. Samuel nodded and smiled in any case.
“I hope I may have his business acumen as well, sir. You may not be aware, Mr Hayes, but the firm of Heythornes has built a glass manufactury for the benefit of its distilleries. It is now in full production of bottles, including, most recently, the so-called case bottle, which is square and holds one quart and can be sealed either by a cork or by a chinaware stopper, well waxed. Being square, the case bottle will fit into a wooden box in twelves, three gallons to the carton, with no space to rattle and break. It is cheaper than the earthenware flagon, and weighs less and, as will be clear to you, stacks very tidily in wagon or hold with no wasted space.”
Mr Hayes could see immediate gain in the case bottle. Earthenware flagons were difficult to stow in a ship’s hold and some were lost on every voyage, rolling and cracking and spilling their valuable contents into the bilges. Strong wooden boxes, which could no doubt be used to transport cargo on the homeward run, would reduce losses as well as allowing the hold to be stowed more economically. Add to that, the bottle was cheaper!
“There is no end to the thirst for gin down on the Coast, Mr Heythorne. Glass bottles as well will be much valued, being so much more useful for storage of water than locally fired clay pots. I do not doubt that we can come to an agreement, Mr Heythorne, for the movement of some substantial number of such bottles. How do you propose to transport them to Liverpool?”
Samuel grimaced – that was the difficulty always.
“By wagon to Chester, sir, and then small coaster along the Dee. A canal such as is now being talked of will be much appreciated.”
Mr Hayes agreed. Inland transport in England was no better than it had been in the days of the Romans, for the better roads still being of their provenance.
It was a disgrace, they agreed. Government should do something about it.
“Will you take a share in any canal building venture, Mr Heythorne?”
Samuel replied cautiously, knowing that canals offered the potential for vast profits and suspicious of the people to be found in their vicinity. The prospect of earning huge sums of money attracted the go-ahead of both the business and criminal world. He was aware that the distinction between the two was commonly tenuous and was inclined to keep his money safe in his own pockets.
“I would be interested in such, as goes without saying, Mr Hayes. I might, however, wish to be assured of the bona fides of any canal projector before I chose to invest any large sum of money in a scheme.”
“Wise indeed, Mr Heythorne! I would be equally cautious. We have worked together for many years, sir, and I believe we have a deal of trust in each other. I may be able to point you towards a wholly reliable project to join Birmingham and points northward, necessarily passing through Stafford and Stone and Stoke, and terminating with a link to the canal planned to join Manchester to Liverpool. There is to be another waterway from Birmingham to London, naturally enough, and there will eventually be a joining canal to the east, running south of the Pennines, to allow the towns of Yorkshire to have an access south and west.”
It was a wide-embracing plan, Samuel could see, and one that would demand many thousands of guineas before it became a reality.
“It will be a piecemeal process, I presume, Mr Hayes? The aim being to build each section and open it to traffic so that it may earn money from a very early stage?”
Mr Hayes assured him that it would be so. To an extent, it would be self-financing, the success of each individual section permitting the next to be attempted.
“On a sharing basis, I must imagine, Mr Hayes?”
“Yes, indeed, Mr Heythorne, though of the nature of a partnership, naturally, with all investors liable for the whole of the debts if worst comes to worst. There is a risk, sir.”
The risk was not small. If a partnership fell into bankruptcy then each of tho
se involved was wholly liable for the bills that must be paid. The small man taking, for example, one-tenth part of the profits was just as vulnerable to the bailiffs as the majority holder. The famous South Sea Bubble of less than fifty years before had seen country innocents who had bought single shares in speculations deprived of their whole estates when the bubble burst, while the villainous promoters had skipped overseas with the loot in their pockets, happily untouchable.
Samuel thought that canals were a good thing, while unlimited risk was thoroughly undesirable. Careful thought was needed, he had no doubt.
“If you come across a project, Mr Hayes, do inform me of it. I am sure that I would wish at minimum to dip my toe in the water. Now, sir, what quantities of case bottles do you think might make initial sense?”
They settled to an hour of intense analysis of price and quantity, Samuel producing written-up sets of figures and possibilities for the near and longer term.
“It would be possible, within the year, to establish additional furnaces and stills, Mr Hayes, was the demand to be sufficiently great. Indeed, one might give some thought to sending empty bottles to America or the Sugar Islands, was there to be an interest in such parts. The Sugar Islands produce rum in no small amount, I believe, and might find bottles to be of interest to them. I am told, how accurately, I do not know, that the ships which bring sugar and such to England often have to scrabble to discover a cargo for the westward voyage – hold space might come cheap.”
Mr Hayes admitted that to be so – he often sent his own ships on the Jamaica trade out half-empty for lack of a worthwhile load.
By the end of their morning they had an agreement thrashed out, prices specified and quantities outlined. Both could see the prospect of profit and thought they might well wish to do more business with each other, especially if the canal projects might come to reality.
“There is a final problem relating to the canals, Mr Heythorne, one that sounds ridiculous when one looks at the number of layabouts infesting our streets – a lack of workers! Canals demand the heaviest of manual labour, a degree of exertion unknown to the field hand or even the colliery worker. The canal that will eventually link Liverpool to the east is a few miles out of the town now and well visible from the road there. It might be instructive to observe the process, Mr Heythorne. I hardly believed my eyes when first I watched the work. Perhaps you should observe and then address your thoughts to me by letter, sir, when you have had the opportunity to consider all you have seen.”
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